


Darling I'm Killed

by roosterbox



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - James Bond, Blow Jobs, Closet Sex, Eames is Almost Criminally Charming, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Smoking, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6013927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roosterbox/pseuds/roosterbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is one of MI6's top agents.  Arthur is his hard-nosed young Quartermaster.  They're sort of together, though none of their co-workers know (so they think).</p>
<p>But for Charles Eames, the mission always comes first.</p>
<p>(Featuring Mal as a potential Bond Girl and Saito as a potential Bond Villain.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darling I'm Killed

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Valentine's Day gift for my tumblr wife, who requested a James Bond AU and said she didn't mind humor or porn. Well, darling, I have a bit of both for you.
> 
> I've already got several good ideas for a follow-up, but that probably won't get written for a while. Ideas like Yusuf as Felix Leiter; I'm definitely going with that one, because Felix is my favorite Bond character, and I'm kinda sorry I couldn't incorporate him into this story. Also, can you spot the references I made to the film canon? I hope so!
> 
> Please enjoy!

The minute he walks through the doors, Eames can feel dozens of eyes on him.

_Let them stare_ , he thinks. _After all, wouldn’t want this pretty suit Arthur_ (“ **Q** ,” Arthur’s voice says angrily in his head. “ **You call me Q while we’re at work**!”) _provided me to go to waste._ He makes a slight adjustment to his lapel and, after a quick scan of the room, heads towards the bar.

“A martini,” he says when asked. “Shaken, not stirred.” The tender has excellent timing, as the very instant he hands Eames his drink, out of the corner of his eye Eames sees his target enter the room.

Hiroki Saito. Billionaire. Jet setter. A man of extreme wealth and even more extreme tastes. But he isn’t alone. Standing at Saito’s left side, the man’s arm around his waist, is Arthur. Lovely Arthur, looking good enough to eat in his impeccable three-piece suit. _Q_ , Eames thinks before mental Arthur can correct him again. Their eyes meet ever so briefly but neither acknowledges it. They can’t afford to. After all, they both have their own roles to play in this.

“You looking for anything in particular, sugar?” A voice with a decidedly French lilt says at his side. He turns, letting his face smooth out into a charming smile.

“I’d say I’ve found it, not to be too bold.” Eames knows his smile is infectious - not even M can resist it for long - and the woman is soon returning a grin of her own. A few yards away, Saito and Arthur settle into a game of poker. Two card; Eames’ favorite. No doubt Arthur’s suggestion.

“Can I persuade you to buy me a drink?” The woman asks. The accent is coming on a bit stronger now. A deliberate seduction technique, Eames knows. But he does not falter.

“Of course. In return, I only ask for more of your charming company.”

She chuckles. “I’ll have whatever you’re having, my dear.”

_I’m in_ , Eames thinks.

———

Some time (and a handful of martinis) later the woman, slightly tipsy, leaves to freshen up in her room. She makes sure Eames knows the number before she goes, clearly expecting to see him again.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” he says, having absolutely no intention of doing so. She tries to sashay seductively on her way out, though Eames knows for a fact that most of the wiggle in her hips is unintentional. He himself feels a slight alcohol buzz, but it’s nothing to be concerned over. He’s been much more worse off during much more important missions. Even so, he’s still glad that M can’t see him.

While he and his new friend were drinking, Eames had kept half an eye on Saito. His target had left Arthur at the table to play alone, presumably to meet with a business partner. Arthur should have accompanied him, but for whatever reason, he didn’t. Unusual for him not to follow M’s orders to the letter. Eames, however, trusts the other man’s judgment completely; no one could understand Saito better. That, of course, was Arthur’s main role. And now, it was time for Eames to play his.

He approaches with confidence, a man well at ease with the crowds of people this place tended to draw. Not a single person there would have imagined his true purpose there that day; he was simply one of them.

“Mind if I sit in on this game?” He asks. Arthur looks up. His eyes betray no recognition.

“There’s a free chair, isn’t there? Go ahead.”

Eames sits, and watches Arthur deal out the next hand. If they had been in any other situation, he might have let his thoughts drift while he stared at Arthur’s hands working over the cards. Eames loves his hands. Those long, elegant fingers; more at home on a computer keyboard, or dancing across the back of Eames’ neck and shoulders in the throes of passion, than they were shuffling cards. Only Eames knows that, however. To any other eyes, much like Eames himself, Arthur belonged there. He lets Arthur win the first hand, but only that one. After a while, the only people still playing are the two of them. _Perfect_ , Eames thinks. He takes out a smoke.

“That’s the fifth hand you’ve won today,” Arthur says, amazed.

“And yet you keep playing against me anyway. I admire your courage, Mr…?”

“Gordon. Arthur Gordon.” Arthur smirks. They had rehearsed these lines at least twice in bed less than twenty-four hours ago. “I admire your luck, Mr…?”

“Eames,” Eames says, the cigarette dangling from his lips. He lights it before continuing, “Charles Eames.”

“Well, Mr. Eames, I’m afraid our time is at its end for now. I have other matters to attend to.” Arthur rises, straightening his jacket a bit.

Eames doesn’t move, only takes a long drag and smiles up at the other man.

“I’ll look forward to our next game then, whenever it may be.”

Arthur turns, but just before he leaves he gently taps the edge of the table. Two small taps, with his right index and middle fingers. Very subtle. To anyone else a meaningless, nervous gesture. But there was nothing nervous about it. _Oh Arthur, how bold of you_ , Eames thinks. He watches Arthur walk away for only the briefest of moments before returning his attention to the cards. There’s nothing he enjoyed more than watching Arthur leave a room, but he couldn’t afford to let the other man - or his perfect arse - distract him too much from the task at hand.

But there was the matter of what Arthur had done before going. It was a signal. A very specific signal. One Eames knew well.

He excuses himself after three more cigarettes and two more hands, unintentionally losing the last. No matter. Winning here was not the important thing. He heads in the direction Arthur had gone earlier, hoping enough time had passed so as not to draw attention. At the other side of the room, almost out of the sight of most of the patrons, Eames is grabbed roughly by the lapels of his tux and gets pulled into a small room. A broom closet by the looks of it. But that’s as far as his brain gets before his arms and lips and eyes are full of a flushed and very aroused Arthur.

“Do you even know,” his partner says between kisses, “how **good** you look in this get-up?”

“Not nearly as good as you look in yours,” Eames replies, and nips slightly at the other man’s bottom lip. His pants are suddenly so tight he feels like the seams may split.

“Truth be told, I almost jumped you as soon as I walked in,” Arthur breathes. His hand works at the waistband of Eames’ trousers. Moving with insistent purpose. On any other day, Eames would be happy to let him do what he would. Nothing turns him on more than letting Arthur take control. But…

“And how would that have gone over in front of Mr. Saito, I wonder?”

Everything stops. The kisses, the groping hands. He almost whines at the loss.

“Eames,” Arthur says, almost hissing between his teeth, “why would you bring him up? Now of all times?”

“Because, my dear, HE is the whole reason why we’re here.” Eames reaches out and cups Arthur’s warm cheek. The other man doesn’t pull away, but rather leans into the touch. “We both have a job to do, Arthur-”

“Q,” Arthur corrects.

“-and, if we both play our hands right,” Eames continues as if Arthur hadn’t said anything, “we should be back home in only a few days, at most. And then…”

Arthur smirks. That little wicked half smile that Eames loves. “And then I can do whatever I want with you.”

“I hope so, dear Q.”

“But for now, I don’t care what M wants, or what the mission says.” The hand is back at Eames’ trousers, and it finally works its way inside to grope at the hardness there; Arthur’s eyes, however, never left Eames’. “For now, I’m going to blow you until you see stars.”

Eames’ legs buckle at the thought. “You and your filthy mouth darl-” his words end in a gasp as Arthur drops to his knees and takes him into said filthy mouth.

Heavenly. It feels as if he’s gone, floating away into space, tethered to earth only by Arthur’s lips and tongue. In those few moments, nothing - not M, not Saito, and certainly not the mission - matters. He becomes not a man so much as a cluster of nerve endings; he can’t help but moan helplessly at how his Arthur has ruined him.  
  
And the sounds Arthur makes as his head bobs. Eames feels every vibration. He looks down at his lover, watches the focus and determination Arthur had while sucking him off, and can feel himself getting close. So close.

Arthur’s drive is second to none. It’s part of the reason why he rose through the ranks of MI6 so quickly to become Quartermaster. It’s why MI6 holds claim to some of the most advanced technologies in the world, some of which Arthur himself perfected. And, equally important, it means that Eames is unofficially the most sexually satisfied man in Her Majesty’s Government.

Arthur choses that moment to lock eyes with him. His movement doesn’t falter, but Eames knows Arthur can tell when his man is almost there; their sexual compatibility seems effortless at times. As Eames watches Arthur working his cock, he sees a drop what looks like saliva and precum roll down Arthur’s chin. It gathers below his chin, drops down on the thigh of Arthur’s impeccably tailored suit, and starts to darken there. It almost happens in slow motion for Eames, and it’s too much.

“Arthur, I’m-” he chokes out. One of his hands moves to tangle in Arthur’s hair as a warning.

But his darling doesn’t react in way Eames expects. Instead Arthur takes the hand off his head and just…holds it. Entwines their fingers. It’s such a sweet gesture from his usually sarcastic Arthur that Eames’ heart gives a lurch and he comes with a muffled shout.

Arthur swallows down every drop, licking Eames clean. He lets himself be pulled up into a clumsy but tender kiss.

“You are incredible, Q.”

“I know.” Arthur sounds smug. Eames is far too satisfied to care.

“Do you need me to-?”

“Please. But help me with my pants first - I don’t want to get more cum on them than I already have.”

————–

Some minutes later, they find themselves sitting curled up together on the floor against a shelf. Some of the various cleaning products tumbled to the floor during their interlude; neither their clatter or the sounds of passion seemed to draw any attention from the outside world. Eames loves moments like this, just resting in the afterglow of his time with Arthur. If he could, he would choose to stay like this forever. But a slow realization dawns on him.

“Q, I think we’ve been in here too long now.”

Arthur draws closer. “I hate it when you’re right,” he says, voice muffled in Eames’ chest. He gathers his legs under him and stands, stretching with a groan. There is a quiet pop as his vertebrae shift. He goes to the opposite end of the tiny room, where Eames put his pants (carefully folded, as he’d been quick to insist), and shimmies back into them. Almost all the tension has gone out of him, so they slide on easily. Eames stuffs his now soft penis into his own pants and adjusts himself. He knows they both couldn’t look more shagged out if they tried.

“Let me help you,” they both speak at once, causing them to break into helpless giggles. But Eames goes to Arthur first. He pulls and straightens out the wrinkles in his man’s suit while Arthur smooths back the hair that Eames mussed. It takes them but a moment to return Arthur to the work of impossible perfection that he was when he arrived on Saito’s arm.

“Your turn,” Arthur says, and the process is repeated with Eames. He takes out a small bottle of cologne ( _travel-size, for emergencies like this_ , Eames thinks) and offers it to Eames after a few liberal dabs for himself. To try to mask the unmistakable odor of sex, at least for a little while. Long enough to achieve their goal. Eames takes it, but uses less than Arthur. After all, he’s not going to be under as heavy scrutiny as the other man will be.

“Do I seem at all like I just had sex with a guy in a closet?” Arthur asks.

Eames snorts. “No, Q. You look absolutely smashing. And me?” He gives an exaggerated twirl.

“You look fine.”

Eames smiles, but all too briefly.

“I’ll go out first. If the coast is clear, I’ll knock on the door three times. Wait a minute, then come out.”

Arthur nods. Eames reached for the door handle. But he hesitates.

“I know this isn’t exactly easy for you, Q, but it’s nearly finished. So you do whatever you have to do.” He speaks almost too quietly for Arthur to hear. He hates the idea of Arthur and Saito being…together. Hopes it won’t come to that.

Arthur gently grabs his free hand.

“For England, Charlie?”

The nickname makes Eames’ heart burst with butterflies.

“No. For me,” He turns and kisses Arthur once, “darling.” And in the next moment he was out and closing the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, comment and let me know!
> 
> Got a tumblr? If you want, you can follow me [right here](http://roosterbox.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
